The Long Game
by Kevin Lynch
Taylor Haskins found herself sandwiched between two Wall Street wannabes that had both gone a little too heavy on the Axe body spray that morning. She was already dizzy from the elevator that had propelled her forty-three stores into the sky and now the noxious fumes from these two were giving her a headache.
She slipped a copy of her resume out of a Louis Vuitton attaché case, gently placed it on her lap and glanced it over. The fragrant fellow on her left took notice.
“That’s a nice bag,” he said. “I used to have a Louis Vuitton watch.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. I got it in Paris a few years ago. Tambour series.”
“Oh. Nice.”
“It was black.”
Taylor focused back on her resume, checking again for typos and errors. It always bothered. her that the resume standard was to cram ones professional life onto one, lonely and singular page. Her nosy neighbor persisted.
“I eventually ditched my L.V. for a Rolex,” he said, lifting up his sleeve. “This is the 2022 Air-King.”
Taylor looked at the watch. “That’s a nice one,” she said. “Too bad it stopped at midnight.”
He nervously pulled his sleeve back down and flipped open a copy of the Wall Street Journal. “Battery probably died,” he said.
A petite redhead suddenly opened a set of glass French doors and entered the reception area. She looked at a clear plastic clipboard and then at the row of filled seats in front of her.
“Taylor Haskins?” she said.
Taylor stood up and smiled. “That’s me.”
The redhead looked at her clipboard and back at Taylor. “You’re here for a job interview?”
“Yes.”
“For what job?”
“The CFP position,” Taylor said.
“You’re a certified financial planner?”
“According to my MBA from Temple University I am,” Taylor said.
“And Mr. Woodall knows you’re a woman?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s just that Mr. Woodall’s team is rather carefully selected and in the time I have been his executive administrator...”
“Secretary,” Taylor said. “You’re a secretary. Me? I’m a certified financial planner. I have a job interview at 9:30 a.m. with Steven Woodall. Is he ready to see me?”
The redhead paused and composed herself. “Yes, of course Ms. Haskins. Please follow me.”
Taylor approached the French doors and looked back over her shoulder at the row of Wall Street hopefuls. She locked eyes with Mr. Rolex.
“Rolex watches don’t run on batteries,” she said. “Your watch is a fake.”
Taylor followed the secretary down a long hallway to a corner office where she was led in. The door closed behind her and she stood staring at the back of a man’s head protruding over the back of a leather-bound Herman Miller executive chair. The nameplate on the desk read “Steven Woodall, President.”
She glanced quickly around the room. A Monster energy drink sat on a sweaty coaster. A photograph of a few bros skiing in Aspen and a Temple University diploma hung on the wall. Steven Woodall spun around theatrically in his chair. “Mr. Haskins,” he said, standing up. “Nice to meet a fellow Temple grad.”
“Ms. Haskins,” Taylor said. “Go Owls.”
Woodall reflexively stuck out his hand which Taylor gripped with enthusiasm. His handshake went from firm to limp. Taylor Haskins smiled. “Should I take a seat?”
“I’m sorry. Who scheduled this interview?” Woodall asked.
“I saw the classified online and sent my resume. I think it was your secretary that called me back. Probably the pretty redhead. Should I go back and get her?”
“Did you bring a copy of your resume?”
Taylor, still standing, handed him her resume. “It’s the same one that’s sitting on your desk,” she said, motioning to a stack of papers. “Is something wrong, Mr. Woodall?”
“I’m sorry. I saw the name Taylor Haskins and assumed you were a man.”
“Well we all know what happens when we assume, right Mr. Woodall? May I sit down?”
“Um, yes, sure. Please.”
They both sat down and Woodall continued reading over Taylor’s resume.
“To be honest, Mr. Woodall, while we’re assuming, I assumed I got the interview because we were both at Temple around the same time. I was a freshman when you were a senior. We both graduated from the Fox School of Business. I also assumed you read my extracurriculars.”
“Your extracurriculars?”
“Yes. I was Delta Delta Delta. I figured when you saw a sorority on my resume you’d have known I was a woman, no?”
“You’re a Triple D?”
“We prefer to be called Tri-Delt. But I’m not active in Greek life anymore, obviously. I graduated two years ago with my MBA in Financial Planning. I was really hoping that tidbit was. what might have gotten my foot in the door, even if that foot is wearing a woman’s Gucci loafer. We have the same degree. We had a lot of the same professors, Mr. Woodall.”
“Yeah I see that. You can call me Steve.”
Taylor nodded to the skiing photo hanging on the wall. “Speaking of Greek life, Steve, are those some of your Pi Lambda Phi brothers? Are you still in touch?”
Steven Woodall tossed Taylor’s resume onto his desk and rolled his seat back. “You graduated two years ago. What have you been doing? It doesn’t look like you have any experience in finance.”
“I was a bartender. I am a bartender,” Taylor said.
“In Manhattan?”
“Hoboken.”
“So you’re bridge-and-tunnel?”
“Do people still say that?”
Woodall leaned back in his chair and wrapped his fingers behind his head, pushing his elbows out and cocking his head to the side. “What’s bartending got to do with finance? Just because you can shake a cosmo and salt a margarita glass doesn’t mean you can manage a multi-million-dollar portfolio.”
“I didn’t go to school rich like a lot of other people, Steve. I carried student debt. I was a bartender and a full-time student and after graduate school, I worked for the last two years to pay off my student loans while simultaneously getting my certifications to qualify for this exact. position. I have taken all of the necessary steps.”
“Again, what does bartending have to do with finance?” Woodall asked.
“One might argue that paying off $64,296 in student loan debt in only twenty-two months establishes a pattern of responsible financial planning.”
Steven Woodall shrugged. “How’s your personal portfolio, Ms. Haskins?”
“You can call me Taylor, and it’s strong, Steve. Quite strong.”
“What do you buy? What’s your angle? What’s your pitch?”
“I’m in for what I like to call ‘The Long Game’,” Taylor said, while using her hands to mimic annoying air quotes.
Steven Woodall played along. “What’s the long game?” he asked.
“ETFs, index funds and mutual funds primarily,” Taylor said. “I’m not interested in making clients rich overnight, but through careful and strategic investing I can assure they’re set up for retirement and that their grandchildren won’t have to pay for college like I did. Those kids will go to school rich, just like you, Steve.”
“Excuse me?”
“You went to Waldorf School in Saratoga Springs where you played hockey and lacrosse. I don’t know what cost more, the private school tuition or the cost of the equipment needed to play those sports. See I’m from Newark. No ice-skating rink at my high school. We played handball because it was free.”
“What?”
“After high school you did a year at Northwood in Lake Placid. Also not cheap. Your academics weren’t great but you got into Temple as a legacy student. What are the chances both of your parents went there? Is that where they met?”
“What?”
“Did your parents meet in college, Steve?” Taylor asked.
Steven Woodall stared straight ahead at the peculiar woman sitting in front of him. “Did we know one another at school?” he asked.
“Not really. We met once. It was at a party at your fraternity house. I think it was during rush week.”
Steven Woodall tried to change the subject. He shook his head as if to reset his brain. “Why don’t you tell me more about this ‘long game’ thing of yours.”
“It’s a simple concept, actually,” Taylor explained. “With compounding interest and long-term market probability its safe to invest in the long term. If somebody were to invest money with me, I probably couldn’t double it within a couple of years, but over the course of, say, twenty years I can assure a client they would see substantial monetary increase.”
“You do know this isn’t a new investment strategy, right? You’re basically talking about a 401K,” Steven Woodall said.
“Yes, long-term investing isn’t a newfangled, ground-breaking model. But I like to think this concept can be applied both professionally and personally,” Taylor said.
“Is that right?”
“Yes. I’m a big fan of playing the long game,” Taylor said. “Too many people seem to focus on the present. Society today yearns for instant satisfaction There’s no patience anymore. My long game approach can be frustrating for some because there’s a lack of immediate results. But with investing, and oftentimes in life, patience is a virtue.”
“So exchange-traded funds and pooled investment security. I get it,” Woodall said. “Like I said, this isn’t new. Why should I hire you? Everyone that steps into this office knows what an ETF is.”
“Did you happen to look at my references, Steve? They’re right there at the bottom of my resume.”
Steven Woodall lifted the resumed off his desk again and scanned the bottom. Only one name looked familiar. “You used Renee Stanwyck as a reference?” he said. “She was a Triple D too. I’m sorry, I mean a Tri-Delt. I’m assuming you were pledges together. Does she even work in finance?”
“Actually no. She’s a lawyer.”
Steven Woodall let out a laugh. “Renee Stanwyck is a lawyer? How’d she pass the bar?”
“You must not have known Renee very well back then,” Taylor said.
“Oh I knew her pretty well, actually. She crashed at the fraternity a few times. Total party chick.”
“I think it was only once,” Taylor said.
“What was once?”
“You said she crashed at your fraternity house a few times, but I’m pretty sure she only went there one time,” Taylor said.
“Really? Only once?”
“Did you know she skipped a grade in elementary school?” Taylor asked.
Steven Woodall’s laugher turned into a smirk. “No, I didn’t know that. Wow, Renee Stanwyck. I haven’t thought about her in a long time. How’s she looking these days? Is she single?”
“She skipped the second grade” Taylor said. “She was only sixteen when she got accepted to Temple. She turned seventeen in December of her freshman year.”
Steven Woodall did some math in his head.
“Rush week was in October that year,” Taylor said. “Renee was only sixteen years old when she was at your fraternity house. You know, the night she crashed there.”
“That was what? Eight years ago? I don’t really remember specifics,” Woodall said.
“Oh but you remember Renee and you remember her crashing at your fraternity house, right Steve?”
“Like I said, it was a long time ag...
“When she was only sixteen years old,” Taylor added.
Steven Woodall started to wiggle in his seat. The arrogant smirk on his face had vanished. He pressed a buzzer on his desktop phone. “Tonya bring me a Perrier,” he said into the intercom. He looked again at the odd woman sitting in front of his desk.
“Eight years ago, Ms. Haskins, is a long time ago,” he said.
“Not long enough, Steve.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The statue of limitations for statutory rape in Pennsylvania is twelve years,” Taylor said.
“What do you want?” Woodall asked.
“I’d like a job. That’s why I’m here.”
The door to Woodall’s office swung open and his secretary delivered his green bottle of sparkling water. He twisted the cap and took a long sip.
“I think I’ll have one of those too, Tonya,” Taylor said. “Thank you.”
Woodall nodded at his secretary as she backed out of the office. He loosened his collar and leaned back in his chair.
“You really waited all these years for this, Ms. Haskins?”
“Like I said, Steve, I like to play the long game.”
She slipped a copy of her resume out of a Louis Vuitton attaché case, gently placed it on her lap and glanced it over. The fragrant fellow on her left took notice.
“That’s a nice bag,” he said. “I used to have a Louis Vuitton watch.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. I got it in Paris a few years ago. Tambour series.”
“Oh. Nice.”
“It was black.”
Taylor focused back on her resume, checking again for typos and errors. It always bothered. her that the resume standard was to cram ones professional life onto one, lonely and singular page. Her nosy neighbor persisted.
“I eventually ditched my L.V. for a Rolex,” he said, lifting up his sleeve. “This is the 2022 Air-King.”
Taylor looked at the watch. “That’s a nice one,” she said. “Too bad it stopped at midnight.”
He nervously pulled his sleeve back down and flipped open a copy of the Wall Street Journal. “Battery probably died,” he said.
A petite redhead suddenly opened a set of glass French doors and entered the reception area. She looked at a clear plastic clipboard and then at the row of filled seats in front of her.
“Taylor Haskins?” she said.
Taylor stood up and smiled. “That’s me.”
The redhead looked at her clipboard and back at Taylor. “You’re here for a job interview?”
“Yes.”
“For what job?”
“The CFP position,” Taylor said.
“You’re a certified financial planner?”
“According to my MBA from Temple University I am,” Taylor said.
“And Mr. Woodall knows you’re a woman?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s just that Mr. Woodall’s team is rather carefully selected and in the time I have been his executive administrator...”
“Secretary,” Taylor said. “You’re a secretary. Me? I’m a certified financial planner. I have a job interview at 9:30 a.m. with Steven Woodall. Is he ready to see me?”
The redhead paused and composed herself. “Yes, of course Ms. Haskins. Please follow me.”
Taylor approached the French doors and looked back over her shoulder at the row of Wall Street hopefuls. She locked eyes with Mr. Rolex.
“Rolex watches don’t run on batteries,” she said. “Your watch is a fake.”
Taylor followed the secretary down a long hallway to a corner office where she was led in. The door closed behind her and she stood staring at the back of a man’s head protruding over the back of a leather-bound Herman Miller executive chair. The nameplate on the desk read “Steven Woodall, President.”
She glanced quickly around the room. A Monster energy drink sat on a sweaty coaster. A photograph of a few bros skiing in Aspen and a Temple University diploma hung on the wall. Steven Woodall spun around theatrically in his chair. “Mr. Haskins,” he said, standing up. “Nice to meet a fellow Temple grad.”
“Ms. Haskins,” Taylor said. “Go Owls.”
Woodall reflexively stuck out his hand which Taylor gripped with enthusiasm. His handshake went from firm to limp. Taylor Haskins smiled. “Should I take a seat?”
“I’m sorry. Who scheduled this interview?” Woodall asked.
“I saw the classified online and sent my resume. I think it was your secretary that called me back. Probably the pretty redhead. Should I go back and get her?”
“Did you bring a copy of your resume?”
Taylor, still standing, handed him her resume. “It’s the same one that’s sitting on your desk,” she said, motioning to a stack of papers. “Is something wrong, Mr. Woodall?”
“I’m sorry. I saw the name Taylor Haskins and assumed you were a man.”
“Well we all know what happens when we assume, right Mr. Woodall? May I sit down?”
“Um, yes, sure. Please.”
They both sat down and Woodall continued reading over Taylor’s resume.
“To be honest, Mr. Woodall, while we’re assuming, I assumed I got the interview because we were both at Temple around the same time. I was a freshman when you were a senior. We both graduated from the Fox School of Business. I also assumed you read my extracurriculars.”
“Your extracurriculars?”
“Yes. I was Delta Delta Delta. I figured when you saw a sorority on my resume you’d have known I was a woman, no?”
“You’re a Triple D?”
“We prefer to be called Tri-Delt. But I’m not active in Greek life anymore, obviously. I graduated two years ago with my MBA in Financial Planning. I was really hoping that tidbit was. what might have gotten my foot in the door, even if that foot is wearing a woman’s Gucci loafer. We have the same degree. We had a lot of the same professors, Mr. Woodall.”
“Yeah I see that. You can call me Steve.”
Taylor nodded to the skiing photo hanging on the wall. “Speaking of Greek life, Steve, are those some of your Pi Lambda Phi brothers? Are you still in touch?”
Steven Woodall tossed Taylor’s resume onto his desk and rolled his seat back. “You graduated two years ago. What have you been doing? It doesn’t look like you have any experience in finance.”
“I was a bartender. I am a bartender,” Taylor said.
“In Manhattan?”
“Hoboken.”
“So you’re bridge-and-tunnel?”
“Do people still say that?”
Woodall leaned back in his chair and wrapped his fingers behind his head, pushing his elbows out and cocking his head to the side. “What’s bartending got to do with finance? Just because you can shake a cosmo and salt a margarita glass doesn’t mean you can manage a multi-million-dollar portfolio.”
“I didn’t go to school rich like a lot of other people, Steve. I carried student debt. I was a bartender and a full-time student and after graduate school, I worked for the last two years to pay off my student loans while simultaneously getting my certifications to qualify for this exact. position. I have taken all of the necessary steps.”
“Again, what does bartending have to do with finance?” Woodall asked.
“One might argue that paying off $64,296 in student loan debt in only twenty-two months establishes a pattern of responsible financial planning.”
Steven Woodall shrugged. “How’s your personal portfolio, Ms. Haskins?”
“You can call me Taylor, and it’s strong, Steve. Quite strong.”
“What do you buy? What’s your angle? What’s your pitch?”
“I’m in for what I like to call ‘The Long Game’,” Taylor said, while using her hands to mimic annoying air quotes.
Steven Woodall played along. “What’s the long game?” he asked.
“ETFs, index funds and mutual funds primarily,” Taylor said. “I’m not interested in making clients rich overnight, but through careful and strategic investing I can assure they’re set up for retirement and that their grandchildren won’t have to pay for college like I did. Those kids will go to school rich, just like you, Steve.”
“Excuse me?”
“You went to Waldorf School in Saratoga Springs where you played hockey and lacrosse. I don’t know what cost more, the private school tuition or the cost of the equipment needed to play those sports. See I’m from Newark. No ice-skating rink at my high school. We played handball because it was free.”
“What?”
“After high school you did a year at Northwood in Lake Placid. Also not cheap. Your academics weren’t great but you got into Temple as a legacy student. What are the chances both of your parents went there? Is that where they met?”
“What?”
“Did your parents meet in college, Steve?” Taylor asked.
Steven Woodall stared straight ahead at the peculiar woman sitting in front of him. “Did we know one another at school?” he asked.
“Not really. We met once. It was at a party at your fraternity house. I think it was during rush week.”
Steven Woodall tried to change the subject. He shook his head as if to reset his brain. “Why don’t you tell me more about this ‘long game’ thing of yours.”
“It’s a simple concept, actually,” Taylor explained. “With compounding interest and long-term market probability its safe to invest in the long term. If somebody were to invest money with me, I probably couldn’t double it within a couple of years, but over the course of, say, twenty years I can assure a client they would see substantial monetary increase.”
“You do know this isn’t a new investment strategy, right? You’re basically talking about a 401K,” Steven Woodall said.
“Yes, long-term investing isn’t a newfangled, ground-breaking model. But I like to think this concept can be applied both professionally and personally,” Taylor said.
“Is that right?”
“Yes. I’m a big fan of playing the long game,” Taylor said. “Too many people seem to focus on the present. Society today yearns for instant satisfaction There’s no patience anymore. My long game approach can be frustrating for some because there’s a lack of immediate results. But with investing, and oftentimes in life, patience is a virtue.”
“So exchange-traded funds and pooled investment security. I get it,” Woodall said. “Like I said, this isn’t new. Why should I hire you? Everyone that steps into this office knows what an ETF is.”
“Did you happen to look at my references, Steve? They’re right there at the bottom of my resume.”
Steven Woodall lifted the resumed off his desk again and scanned the bottom. Only one name looked familiar. “You used Renee Stanwyck as a reference?” he said. “She was a Triple D too. I’m sorry, I mean a Tri-Delt. I’m assuming you were pledges together. Does she even work in finance?”
“Actually no. She’s a lawyer.”
Steven Woodall let out a laugh. “Renee Stanwyck is a lawyer? How’d she pass the bar?”
“You must not have known Renee very well back then,” Taylor said.
“Oh I knew her pretty well, actually. She crashed at the fraternity a few times. Total party chick.”
“I think it was only once,” Taylor said.
“What was once?”
“You said she crashed at your fraternity house a few times, but I’m pretty sure she only went there one time,” Taylor said.
“Really? Only once?”
“Did you know she skipped a grade in elementary school?” Taylor asked.
Steven Woodall’s laugher turned into a smirk. “No, I didn’t know that. Wow, Renee Stanwyck. I haven’t thought about her in a long time. How’s she looking these days? Is she single?”
“She skipped the second grade” Taylor said. “She was only sixteen when she got accepted to Temple. She turned seventeen in December of her freshman year.”
Steven Woodall did some math in his head.
“Rush week was in October that year,” Taylor said. “Renee was only sixteen years old when she was at your fraternity house. You know, the night she crashed there.”
“That was what? Eight years ago? I don’t really remember specifics,” Woodall said.
“Oh but you remember Renee and you remember her crashing at your fraternity house, right Steve?”
“Like I said, it was a long time ag...
“When she was only sixteen years old,” Taylor added.
Steven Woodall started to wiggle in his seat. The arrogant smirk on his face had vanished. He pressed a buzzer on his desktop phone. “Tonya bring me a Perrier,” he said into the intercom. He looked again at the odd woman sitting in front of his desk.
“Eight years ago, Ms. Haskins, is a long time ago,” he said.
“Not long enough, Steve.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The statue of limitations for statutory rape in Pennsylvania is twelve years,” Taylor said.
“What do you want?” Woodall asked.
“I’d like a job. That’s why I’m here.”
The door to Woodall’s office swung open and his secretary delivered his green bottle of sparkling water. He twisted the cap and took a long sip.
“I think I’ll have one of those too, Tonya,” Taylor said. “Thank you.”
Woodall nodded at his secretary as she backed out of the office. He loosened his collar and leaned back in his chair.
“You really waited all these years for this, Ms. Haskins?”
“Like I said, Steve, I like to play the long game.”